


Fear of Light

by xantissa



Series: Fear [1]
Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-13
Updated: 2012-07-13
Packaged: 2017-11-09 21:56:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/458883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xantissa/pseuds/xantissa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He comes to me only in darkness…<br/>09-03-2005</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fear of Light

Jack’s POV

It only ever happens at night, when everyone is asleep and there is no light in the world. Nothing to illuminate his face, nothing for me to see, only to feel. 

Feel his body, feel his hot breath against my face and his rough, almost cruel hands.

It’s raining tonight, the steady pounding of it on the roof of my house is like a message, a soundtrack from a tacky melodrama. I don’t know how, but I know he will come tonight. That he will come under the disguise of night, his face hidden, his eyes dark with knowledge and something dangerous, that he will come and take what he wants, what he needs from me and then leave before the first rays of light touch the earth, leaving me empty and alone again.

I see people looking at him at work, half the personnel of SGC are in love with him, but they don’t know him. I wonder how it is possible that they don’t know, don’t see all that darkness that lies in wait just beneath those luminous, brilliant blue eyes. How is it that no one sees that fierce intelligence inside him? That capacity for cruelty?

And I am no better myself. A hard ass Colonel, Air Force, Black Ops… and it’s nothing compared to his power over me. I tried to fight him at first, tried to stop it, stop him- but it’s just no use. He wormed his way under my skin and like a terminal sickness, there is no way to rid myself of him.

And every time I wake up cold and alone, my body aching, I promise myself that it was the last time, that it never happens again. But when I see him at the Mountain, hunched over his desk, working furiously on some translation, his eyes hidden behind his glasses and his deceptively smooth looking hand holding his favorite pen, I know that the next time he comes, I’ll be at his mercy again.

Because somewhere along the way I lost my soul, I lost my heart and my will to him. God knows, that if any other man tried to treat me like he does I would have killed him. I was never a victim, never a passive observer, but for him I would do anything.

It’s almost pathetic how much I love him. I would die for him. And in a way I am dying for him every time he leaves. It’s as if somebody is ripping out my heart every time I see him standing at my doorstep, his face shadowed, only his eyes shining with something deadly and desperate. 

It’s happened so many times already that I can sense him long before he comes. Like tonight. Even without thinking about the reason why, I turn all of the lights out. The utter stillness of the place is only magnifying the depressing song of the rain pounding on the windows. 

I try to go to bed, go to sleep but I can’t. Like an addict I wait for him, scared that he will come and craving it at the same time.

When the knock comes, I am not surprised. I waited for it. Waited for him, waited for the pain he gives me, because if it’s the only thing he can give me, then I’ll take it.

Silently I open the door. There is no need to check who is on the other side. No one else would come to my place at one in the morning.

I take a deep breath and look at the man I know will be standing in front of me.

Daniel.

My friend, my conscience, my sometimes lover, my nemesis… my death. So beautiful and dark…

He is wet, his leather jacket dripping, his short hair spiked and dark from the rain. He doesn’t have his glasses on, but he never does when he comes here. His face is pale, his eyes dark, pupils dilated so much the blue is barely visible, but I avoid looking at his face. I don’t want to see what’s there is in his eyes. There are things that even I wouldn’t be able to take. 

I can feel the tension in him, see it in his body language, the way he stands, unearthly still, the way his brow is furrowed.

He’s not waiting for permission to enter. He knows damn well he can do whatever he wants and I won’t utter a word of protest.

What would the use be anyway?

He slams me into the wall, his wet body pressing me harshly as his cold lips close over mine. He is cold, his body is shaking minutely. He tastes of cold night and autumn rain. His hand creeps behind my neck and gripes the back of my head tightly, his fingernails almost scratching at the skin there as his mouth renews his attack on mine. 

The kiss tastes of danger and desperation, and anger and all I can do is hold on, grasping his clothing and the skin of his shoulders in my fists and wait out the assault.

I want to touch him so bad, I want to gather him in my arms and offer comfort, tell him that everything will be okay, that I will take care of him. I want to pet him, kiss him, touch his body, get to know every curve and every plane of his body, but I know I’m not allowed. All I can do is be a vessel for his need, a tool for his release.

It’s all I am ever going to get.

Just as the kiss starts tasting of blood, my blood from the lip he split with his teeth, Daniel lets go of me. 

I can’t look at him right now, afraid that he will read my surrender from my eyes, destroying even the flimsiest image of my own strength I might still have. I can feel him standing so close to me that I smell the scent of rain on him, the slight trace of aftershave and sweat, a combination that is so Daniel, that it makes my heart ache. 

Finally he turns around and disappears down the corridor leading to the bedroom. I know what is expected of me. No words are needed here. 

So I follow him in silence, enter the bedroom that’s supposed to be mine, but somehow became his territory and start to strip. I am aware of him standing just a few feet from me, silent, watching me with those angry, cold eyes that are burning holes in my body.

I pull the shirt off and toss it to the floor. It’s no use folding it because I won’t be able to look at it for quite some time anyway.

Without a word, with my eyes firmly in front of me I take my pants and underwear off, finally standing naked and helpless in my own bedroom. 

The subtle rustle of cloth on cloth surprises me. He rarely, if ever, bothers to undress for me. I wonder if the fact that he actually takes his clothes off would make this whole thing better or worse? Would it be more like making love? Or would it only be a cruel parody of my desire?

Two soft steps of naked feet on the floor and I feel him behind me. His hand skims my back in an ephemeral touch and then pushes me forward, causing me to stumble and fall on the bed. Before I even have the time to gather myself he is there, on me, his heavy, cold body pressing me into the mattress, his hands callused and rough running over my naked body in a soothing resemblance of a caress, but too dominating and cold to be it for real.

There is no hesitation on his part and barely any foreplay. He’s not here to make love to me. But my traitorous body is reacting to his mere presence and I can feel my cock starting to harden and push against my stomach. 

I hear a quiet pop and then his hands are pushing my thighs apart. As soon as I comply, letting Daniel settle between my legs I feel that hated arm across my shoulders, the one that makes sure I won’t be able to change the position, that I won’t be able to look at him. 

The only thing he wants from me is my body, to lie still and take it, be a tool for his release. Nothing more.

I can’t help but hiss when his slicked, cold fingers touch me between my buttocks. He barely gives me time to prepare before he pushes two fingers inside me, stretching almost but not quite hurting me yet. His body on top of me starts to get warmer, the chill of the rain being replaced with something else and all I can do is close my eyes and consciously relax, feel the rough thrusts of his fingers inside me, stretching my anus, preparing for what I know will come later.

As usual, he’s not lingering over the task. He presses a third finger, this time hitting my prostate. My body jerks, but I am silent. There are no words exchanged, no looks, no spare touches. 

It’s not about love.

He withdraws his fingers and I clench my hands around the comforter, listening to the wet sounds of his hand smoothing the lube over his erection. I am painfully hard by now and I know I will come, I always do and somehow it makes it all the worse. 

And soon enough I feel him change position, then something hard and wet touches my buttock, I exhale loudly and he takes it as a cue or permission he doesn’t need, and presses against my tender opening.

With one hard, smooth, unyielding thrust, he presses his penis inside me. It’s big, the rounded head is stretching me to the point of pain, and the burning makes it hard to keep still, but as much as it hurts, I still want him to do this, and he does. Slowly, determinately he pushes inside until his balls are resting against my ass.

He starts to thrust. The rhythm deep and forceful, no thought for me in there, no place for my own need. But I knew it would be like this. It’s always like this. And although my mind hates it, my body always reacts to him.

Always.

I’m trembling beneath him. My body relaxing and letting him fuck me as hard and as fast as he wishes, his penis stroking my prostate with every grunt. I hear his breathing becoming more and more labored. 

I can feel the heat of his body on mine, the friction of his naked skin on mine and it’s somehow different than the other times he was here, the other times he came to use me.

His thrusts speed up, becoming sharp, fast jabs that are as much painful as they are pleasurable. I can smell his sweat, the scent of him surrounding me and can feel the hot, cruel length of his cock inside me pushing, stretching, possessing every corner of my empty soul and I start to shake harder.

The sobs leave my throat before I even know what’s going on. It’s not stopping him, the movement of his hips still fast and ruthless, but I sense a change in him.

He moves to the side, surprising me, and pushes us both on our sides, without ever pausing in his fucking. One of his hands reaches around and grips my cock, stroking it fast and hard, in time with his movements. Our bodies are now slick with sweat and I know he is close now. The hand jerking me off is sure to make me come and I let it happen. I feel the hot tears on my face but there is nothing to be ashamed of anymore. After all, he’d seen it already, he took it all…

And then it happens, the first sound from him, a choked off gasp and I feel his cock inside me expand just a little bit more and then a warm rush of semen inside me. He is jerking behind me, his body trebling in this almost painful climax and his hand tightens on my member.

It’s enough to make me come and I feel my own come spilling out, falling on the comforter with a quiet rush. 

I lay there silently, waiting for him to withdraw like he always does and then clean himself. I wince as he pulls out, the movement painful for me. I roll on my stomach as soon as I can, ignoring the wet spot under me. I don’t want to see him, afraid of what I might find in his eyes. So I lie there still and silent, letting the darkness envelop me, hoping the raw, bleeding wound that is my heart would finally close.

I feel him sitting on the edge of the bed, looking at me. It’s almost physical, how I can feel his eyes on me. 

“Why?” He asks. It’s the first time he has said anything to me during our little encounters. “Why are you letting me do this to you?”

I can’t read anything from his voice. It’s distant, carefully neutral. Nothing for me to hear in it.

When I don’t answer, I can feel the bed shift as he leans over me and reaches to touch my still wet cheek. His fingers trace one tear track.

I shift, getting away from his touch. There’s no use fighting him. He will win, he always does. So I resign myself and tell him. 

“What do you think Daniel? Because I love you.” I want to fight him, snap at him, but there is simply no fight left in me. He is like a cancer that took possession of my body a long, long time ago. 

I hear no answer from him and finally fall asleep, my body succumbing to the exhaustion both as physical as it is mental. 

* * *

When I wake up the bedroom is empty and sun is streaming through the windows.

I sit up slowly, my not so young body protesting after being fucked the night before, but I ignore the pain. It’s something I got used to sometime along the way.

I take a shower, careful to clean all the evidence of my encounter with Daniel. I linger over my private parts. I can feel that my anus is still lightly swollen, and when I brush my fingers over it, I feel a slight moisture and know that it’s his come. It’s going to be leaking out of me for a few hours and no matter how much I’ll try to forget about the night before, I won’t. Not even when all the marks on my body have faded away.

Finally, I dress in some sweats and head to the kitchen. I’m not hungry, but will eat breakfast in a vain attempt to pretend that everything is okay.

In the living room I stop. The doors are slightly ajar, letting in a ray of light. I can also see a shadow of something on my doorstep.

I open the door and have to blink against the brightness, not really sure if what I see is true.

There, sitting on the steps to my house is Daniel, dressed as he was the night before, a heavy shadow on his face- evidence he hadn’t shaved yet. He is still, his elbows on his knees, his hands clasped together almost as if he was meditating. 

It slowly sinks that he hadn’t left. 

Carefully, as one would approach a wounded, wild animal I approach him and gingerly sit on the steps beside him.

He is still looking somewhere in front of him. I can’t tear my eyes from his face. It’s morning and I have never seen him like this, in the light of day. 

“It’s light.” I tell him finally, my voice strangely hoarse.

“I know.” He says still not looking at me.

I swallow. My hands start to shake so I clasp them together. I have this strange feeling that somehow he is offering me a chance, a chance for something better and I’m afraid to fuck it up.

“You stayed.” It’s more my need to voice it aloud, as if hearing those words would make it more real somehow, not the need for conversation. “Why?” I ask.

“I don’t want to be afraid of the light anymore.” He still isn’t looking at me, but one of his hands falls to his side.

Feeling bold, I reach for that fallen hand and entwine our fingers together.

“It’s okay Danny, you are not alone.”

 

The end.


End file.
